


Loose Lips Sink Ships

by Tsume_Yuki



Series: Three Sheets to the Wind [3]
Category: One Piece
Genre: AUs galore, Bonuses, Drabbles, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 20:29:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11585610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsume_Yuki/pseuds/Tsume_Yuki
Summary: A collection of Bonuses and AUs from Tell it to the Marines





	1. Tell it to the Marines Canon Risace Drabbles I

 

 

 

 

Ace is slowly, slowly, getting used to not waking up alone. Not in the same sense that he'd slept in the same room as his brothers as a kid, or with his crew as a Captain, or even with his men as a Commander.

No, Ace wakes up today (just like every day for the past week) in the guest bedroom aboard the Sunny.

What's different about today, however is that he doesn't wake to Riskua already going about her daily routine, or even to her sleeping head pillowed on his chest as she had been that first night.

No, today he wakes to Riskua still laid out beside him, one leg tangled in the space between his own.

As Ace is lying upon his back, it means the redhead is half sprawled across his chest, the rest of her occupying the space to his left.

What's different this morning is that her fingers are working over his chest, drawing meaningless patterns into warm skin with the gentle edge of her nails. What's different this morning is that she's slowly working her way up his neck; Ace'd drowsily returned to consciousness when she'd been gracing his collarbone with a kiss and now her mouth is pressing to the sensitive pulse point of his neck.

"Good morning, Commander Ace," Riskua purrs and she cannot have been awake for too long, her voice still dripping with sleep.

Teeth graze slightly at the skin of his jaw and Ace groans; it's really not difficult to get interested in what's happening first thing in the morning. Not difficult at all.

"Bright Eyes, what are you doing?" Ace whispers, praying his blatant excitement isn't bleeding too much into his voice.

Humming, Riskua's leg slowly drags up his body, toes tracing across his inner thigh and gliding over a hipbone before it comes down to rest beside his outer leg. She's edged up onto his chest now, straddling his waist, lying upon his chest, naked flesh against naked flesh. The soft swell of her breasts press against his torso, her arms folded across him and head cradled within them.

"Trying something new... is, is morning sex okay?"

Well if he wasn't aroused already that'd have cinched it.

Instead of answering verbally, Ace cups the swell of Riskua's hips between his hands, pulling down slightly.

The physical evidence of just how very okay he is with this brushes at her inner thighs and he can see the last bit of hesitance leave her face.

In response, hips rock slow and sensual against his, hands smoothing up across the stretch of his chest before cupping the sides of his face.

Ace's fingers dig into the taunt skin of Riskua's hips, his cheeks warming beneath her cold palm as her lips work over his. He keeps her anchored against him, just rocking his hips for a moment, enjoying the motion. Like lazy waves on a beach, rolling back and forth, just brushing up and down the shoreline.

"Mmm, this is nice," Riskua breathes, fingers curling as she drags them back down his chest, pressing a kiss just below the hollow of his throat.

The mingling scent of morning breath as their lips meet again is easy to ignore; his tongue outlining the boundaries of Riskua's mouth, though he makes no effort to memorise the sensation. It's far more pleasant to merely enjoy it, to brush up against the roof of her mouth ever so slightly, just enough to make her shiver.

They don't break apart, it's more a temporary release; Ace has never understood how kisses could be described as tongues battling for dominance. It's never like that with Riskua; theirs is more a slow dance, wind kissing at the ocean, wisps of smoke entwining, rising flames embracing.

It's natural, there's never an action shared between them that feels forced, not when they're being honest with one another.

Riskua sits up, hands resting upon his trembling ribs and while he's not panting yet, each quick breath he draws in through the nose is audible.

His own fingers linger, curling like foam down from her hips to journey along the length of her thighs, a slight pressure against the muscle beneath.

Sexes slide against one another as Riskua edges back and Ace groans, head pressing back into the pillow as desirous hands slowly work their way down his chest. He knows where this is going, it's not the first time, but even still he can't stop the swelling anticipation that comes with rubbing up against Riskua's wetne-

"Ace! Skua!"

Ace could weep.

They have both frozen, her hand a hair's breadth away from taking a gentle hold of Ace's length, his fingers digging into the tight flesh of Riskua's thighs.

And Luffy is outside, demanding their attention.

It's like he has a sixth sense for when they're about to get down to something, because sixty percent of the time he's managed to ruin it.

"We're at the island!"

Still in some half form of kneeling-sitting, Riskua closes her eyes and tips her head back.

Ace takes the time to appreciate the way her chest swells with the deep breath she draws in, because that's clearly all that he'll be getti-

A dainty hand cups his cock for a second and he feels the head nudge between welcoming lips, stealing a sudden hiss of surprise from Ace's lungs.

He shoots a shocked glance to Riskua, but she has her eyes closed for entirely different reasons now.

When she speaks, Ace can barely focus on the words, can only absentmindedly acknowledge how steady her voice is, because hips are slowly tilting back and forth, working him further into her.

"Ace's had another narcolepsy attack, you go on, we'll catch up."

The thundering racket of Luffy's retreating footsteps are quiet compared to the lustful moan that Riskua gives when she fully seats herself upon him.

Abandoning his hold upon her thighs, Ace takes her hands prisoner instead, removing them from his chest to instead intertwine their fingers.

"I am so done with being interrupted," the redhead groans, hips rotating slowly before it evolves into a sensuous rock that has Ace thrusting up impatiently.

Riskua takes the hint, follows the movement, legs flexing to lift herself up and lower back down, using his hands for support.

Feet planted firmly against the mattress for leverage, Ace meets her halfway, bucking up in rhythm with the tempo she sets, unable to tear his eyes away.

How cascades of red flow around her face with every motion, how cheeks flush with effort and arousal, how those sharp eyes never once stop looking at him as if he's something wondrous. Her scent remains nestled in the bedsheets as an ever-present perfume; the feel of her around him, enveloping him, her fingers gripping tightly to his hands.

It feels like love.

The thought has Ace jolting up, chest to chest with Riskua and it makes it so much harder to keep pressing into her but so much easier to wrap one arm around her waist, to bring her hand to his lips and kiss it, press it close as grunts and moans begin to spill over.

Riskua's hand knocks against his abs as she works to get herself off too, works to try and time it some they can come together and he cannot get enough of the taste of her.

Their lips shift hungrily, Riskua breathlessly whimpering his name and Ace just comes undone.

He can feel Riskua reach completion too, fingers clenching his own, other hand squeezing at his waist, the first part of his she can grasp.

She clenches around him, fluttering and quivering, thighs twitching over his own.

Nuzzling his face into the side of her neck, Ace encircles Riskua within his arms, sweaty skin against sweaty skin.

Her hair tickles at the side of his face and he's very much aware of the fact they're both quite sticky in the pelvic area, but right now-

Ace flops onto his back, dragging Riskua down and sliding out of her at the same time.

She's still straddling him but further up his waist now, their faces level, and Ace peppers a kiss to her nose.

She smiles at him, the epitome of her nickname, her hands coming up to cradle the sides of his head, fingers threading through his hair.

This is still new, though Ace doubts the excitement will ever fade, not if she keeps looking at him like that every day.

A long press of a kiss graces his lips and Ace's eyes flutter closed, arms wrapping that little bit tighter around the girl stretched over his chest. Little puffs of air roll across his collarbone, chased by a satisfied hum.

What a perfect morning.

 

 

 

 

### Worship

 

 

 

"Bright Eyes?"

Riskua is sat at the end of ~~their~~ the bed, half her bottom lip sucked into the warmth of her mouth, teeth scraping at the tender flesh as she wanders through the maze of her mind. It's not a place Ace will ever understand; he's not even going to try and pretend. She's the academic of them, the thinker, the planner. All he can do is call, leave unwound balls of string and hope can leave the maze behind.

"I want to try something, but-"

"What do you want to try?"

It's not that they're unadventurous (they're pirates after all, to be unadventurous would be as close to blasphemy as one could get) but they have been taking this slowly and carefully.

This, what they have, isn't something Ace is willing to risk by racing in head first, as he's wont to do.

Riskua is clearly of the same opinion; her every action so far has been just that, an action. Not words, because that is where Riskua cuts deep. No matter how well she can fight, how well she can wield those twin daggers-

'You lied to me'.

It's her words that cut the deepest, right to the core.

God, he thought he'd lost it that day. It'd all been hanging by a thread, by some miracle they'd all managed to pull through. Not without their scars, not without being dealt some of the worst blows yet, emotionally and physically, but they're still here.

More importantly though, Riskua's still here.

'You lied to me.'

He never will again.

That doesn't mean he isn't… cautious. Because Riskua has spent two years with Sabo, and his little shit of a brother has done his damn best to get the redhead onboard with the whole pranking thing though.

When the mattress sinks beneath his weight nothing unto happens.

Shoulders roll back in relief, muscles relaxing, Ace turns his attention to Riskua who's just sat beside him, legs pressed together and hands cradled in her lap. She's toying with her thumbs, still rolling her lip back and forth, hiding a nervous smile at the corner.

"Should I be scared?" Ace asks, pushing down those constant worries (is she having second thoughts, has she seen what everyone else does, that he might be Ace but he's also the Pirate King's son) in favour of working his eyes across Riskua's face for any hints.

"No, I just- lie down?"

Biting back the instinctive parroting of that question, Ace lifts a brow but nevertheless complies with Riskua's request. His legs dangle off the side of the bed given all he's done is just drop back onto the mattress, but Riskua's clearly not pleased with that, one finger twirling.

Ace follows the silent command, hips twisting until he's completely stretched out across the bed, quite unsure what to do with his limbs.

Riskua solves that for him, taking one of his hands in hers, thumbs running over the tough skin of his knuckles.

"I like your hands," she shares, spreading his fingers, placing gentle kisses to the tips of each one. "I like how they're bigger than mine, I like that they're always so warm." She sucks at his forefinger, a brief nip of teeth against skin.

It has Ace grunting, the way her lips slowly drag from around the tip, the hot wetness of her mouth giving way to the bite of cool air.

Hands slowly work up to his wrist, nails trace the black ink of his latest tattoo and Ace doesn't need to hear that she likes it. It's clear by the affection melting across his features, but she still presses a kiss to the little bird silhouette anyway.

Fingers continue to travel up his arm, Ace slowly relaxing into the sincere touch, muscles falling pliant beneath the caress.

"I like your shoulders too, like how broad they are," Riskua whispers, no longer sitting on the side of the bed but inside kneeling upon it just beside his hips, the bed dipping from the additional weight.

She spreads her hands out, the slow movement tracing the sharp jolt of his collarbones, touch devout.

He can smell her now, the honey of her hair, the warmth of her flesh.

"I liked it when you put one of my legs over them, can we do that again?"

Ace groans, eyes closed and exhaling forcefully through his nose, teeth clenched as those words go straight to his groin.

"We can do that again," he confirms. They can do more than that again, the wide spread of Riskua's long legs, feeling the muscle tremble and quiver against his chest; that they will unquestionably do again.

Riskua settles on his waist, the press of her thighs against his sides, just a little too high to give any real relief.

There's a whine lodged somewhere at the back of his throat, one he can't quite vocalise yet. Because Riskua isn't watching for his reaction, her attention focused solely upon his body, gaze intent.

Tender patterns are traced out across his skin so delicate and precise that Ace can't help but squirm a little, one wistful roll of his hips coming by instinct alone.

Riskua's shamelessly focused though, roaming across his chest, a steady descent as her hands dip across his navel, her own thumbs taking a brief detour along the crease where her thighs meet her hips. It's outlined nicely by the thin black fabric of Ace's boxers, stolen for sleeping in. Just in case company comes knocking.

Jolting when Riskua's hands work over a particularly ticklish spot, Ace takes hold of her thighs because if he doesn't grab hold of something soon he's going to burst.

"What are you doing?"

"There's a lot I like about you, I'm trying to find my favourite bits," Riskua says. Her attention is finally on him, meeting his eyes with molten yellow, cheeks flushed and lips parted.

Like she's drowning in him.

Riskua shuffles back to make further room for her explorations, but Ace reels her back in, yanks her up by the grip he has on her legs, just to get another hit of that delicious friction. It's not enough to get Riskua to abandon what she's doing though, her hands still working along his stomach, trailing across scar tissue, touch firm against the dulled nerves. Mercifully she doesn't attempt to move again.

Ace doubts he'll be able to restrain himself if she does.

"I like your hair," Riskua breathes, leaning forwards, her own spilling over her shoulders and across his own skin as she lies atop him, swirling a lock of his hair between her fingers.

The slight hint of arousal lingers on her hands, from where her thumbs brushed so close to her core. She must be as excited as him if the scent can be picked up through the fabric of his underwear.

"I like how the shorter strands end up stuck to your forehead when you're sweating. You always look wonderful after a fight. After sex." She's so close, hot breath mingling with his own, eyes bright and wide, scarlet hair drawn around them like curtains. Her forearm is resting by his head, hand still half tangled in his hair, a pleasant pull.

Relishing the sensation of Riskua's lips against his, Ace rolls his hips up into her, groaning low and rough.

Hands work up to her hips and Ace flips them, careful not to accidentally throw them both over the side of the bed.

Hooking his thumbs into the waistband drawn tight over Riskua's hips, Ace drags it down, peeling the fabric away from her tanned thighs, the result of far too much naked sunbathing for which he hadn't been present.

As he slowly works the underwear from Riskua's legs, he shakes his head, pleased by the sight of a telling damp patch.

"Touch yourself."

It comes out as a command, surprising both of them.

Riskua's eyes are wide and for a second Ace thinks he's gone too far, invading territory they haven't covered yet.

But then lips stretch languorously, hands working over shoulders to play with hardened nipples.

"Is this okay, Commander?"

The playful tease has Ace groaning. That's hot.

"Harder."

"Yes, sir~" Riskua's voice hitches, her hips stuttering, legs parting and now he can physically see her arousal, the wet folds presented, an offering for him alone.

He looks away for a moment, just enough time to efficiently remove his own restrictive underwear, only to find Riskua's wandering hands have found their way between her legs, fingers working back and forth in the exact place Ace wants to be.

He presses one hand (warmer than her skin, just as she said) to her thigh, the other removing the enthusiastic fingers. His tongue swipes across her lips, broad and slow, greedily burying between the folds, lapping and relishing the taste he inspires in this woman.

Riskua's hips buck as she thrashes in response, her hands in his hair and the leg he hasn't restrained over his shoulder. Her heel is digging into back, the sweet tang of her wetness overpowering.

"Ace~ no, I wanna kiss."

He loves that her words (always so carefully picked) seem to just fall apart now, only with him though.

Smoothing one hand up from her leg, outlining the curve of Riskua’s hip, Ace concedes to her request, lingering to kiss at the silken swell of her breasts just long enough to avoid the instant tugging of his hair.

Riskua’s lips press firmly to his, tongue meticulously circling his lips before it curls with his own.

Ace grips at her hair, his other hand stroking at the wetness he’s just left behind. He rubs against Riskua’s thigh, impatient fingers stroking between those damp folds, sweeping back and forth.

Riskua whines as he works a finger inside, thrusting a few times until a second one joins the first. Because he doesn’t know how long this is supposed to last, doesn’t know what she wants, and he’s going to make Riskua tell him.

“Ah! Ace!”

Eager hips snap up towards him, thigh bumping against his cock and Ace hisses. Fuck that felt good.

His fingers twist and Riskua moans again, her face flushed, body no longer cold beneath his hands.

Ace laps at the flushed skin of her chest, sucking a nipple between his lips, playing with it between his teeth as his hips grind against her leg. He can feel his precum smearing there, but he can hold off, needs an indication-

“Get on with it,” Riskua keens, bucking her hips for emphasis as the heel of Ace’s hand rubs against her clit.

Removing his saturated fingers, Ace meets Riskua gave and gives them one slow lick, her appreciative groan going straight to his cock. Just like her hand.

Wheezing at the forceful touch, Ace’s hips stutter, Riskua’s thumb swiping over the head. Her fingers are soft, gentle against his ridge self and Ace drops his head beside Riskua’s, sucking the lobe of her ear into his mouth to muffle another groan.

“Want this,” Riskua breathes, the wet noise that follows lets Ace know exactly where that hand has gone and this time he does groan.

Taking himself in his hand, he presses against Riskua’s entrance, the pulsating walls coaxing him forwards, fluttering at the head of his cock.

“Fuck, you look so good,” Ace whispers, stealing forwards, encouraged by the legs that coil around his back. She’s so hot, always so hot, back arched and clenching around him.

The response he gets is a wordless thing, caught somewhere between a plea and a moan; the pulsing quivers that surround him aren’t really helping his focus, so Ace gives up.

He rolls his hips, grinding against Riskua, her legs clutching at his sides, heels digging into the small of his back.

“Nu-ah~ Ace!”

Thrusting back and forth, the bed squeaking with each motion, Ace focuses on Riskua’s face. On those flushed cheeks, the little breathy gasps that she’s not even trying to hold back, the way she’s looking at him just as intently.

“Riskua, fuck~” He’s not sure how much longer it lasts, not as long as he wants it to, that’s for sure.

Because his pace falters and he barely has the sense of mind to release his grip on Riskua’s hips and instead wrap his arms around her waist, hold her close instead of bruising her like before.

Then he’s cumming, Riskua’s name on his lips as he spills inside of her until he’s spent. She catches his hand before he can get it between her legs.

“Ace,” and her voice is rougher than usual, though there’s no disappointment there, “I don’t need to cum to enjoy it.”

That still doesn’t stop him from feeling guilty though, guilty he reached completion and she didn’t.

He does comply when Riskua pushes him to the side, gathering her up in his arms when she edges closer. Her thighs are sticky with both their juices, with his release, one wedged between his and they will definitely need a shower in the morning. Hopefully an activity they can enjoy together.

“Are you-”

“Yes, Ace, I am sure. I know my own body, okay? I enjoyed it.” She pecks a kiss to his clavicle, then to his jaw, then to his lips.

Stroking his fingers along her flank, Ace buries his nose in her hair, immersing himself in the scent of sex that prevails in the sheets.

 

 

 

 

 

 

### Lazy Mornings

 

 

 

Having one of the few private cabin rooms in the Moby that houses a window wasn’t something Ace really appreciated until now.

He’d always enjoyed basking in the warm glow of the sun of course, but not like this.

Not waking up beside the woman he’s been crushing on for four years, watching the sunlight hit the tanned expanse of her bare back as she lays within the rumpled sheets of his bed.

It’s not even like they’d been up to anything, they had just slept.

Riskua had nodded off on his shoulder while Ace had been trying to listen in to Marco’s report; rather than risk joining her, he’d excused the two of them and carted her off to his room, crawling into bed once he’d made an attempt at making sure Riskua was comfortable.

She must have woken up at some point in the night, because she’d certainly been dressed when Ace put her to bed.

A quick glance from the corner of his eyes verifies this by the pile of fabric on the floor.

Tracing his fingers along the sharp line of Riskua’s shoulder, Ace drags them down the length of her spine. Tanned skin is warm to the touch, torso rising and falling in shallow motions as she breathes.

She looks lovely, she wears the sun well.

Wiggling one arm under her midriff, Ace reels her into his hold, curling his body around her, face pressing into the mane of red hair. She smells of ocean spray and warmth; she’s managed to mark his bed with her scent, it feels like it’s everywhere.

“Mmm, Ace?” Her voice is thick with sleep and Ace just grunts in response, curling a little bit tighter.

He has zero intentions of unfolding, of getting up. This is nice, waking up next to someone. Being able to just lay there and know there’s absolutely nothing wrong right now.

Riskua hums low in her throat, shuffling back a bit until she’s comfortable, her shoulder blades flushed against Ace’s chest and her arms wrapped around his own.

“Mmm, this is nice.”

She’s right, it is.

 

 

  


 

### Hullabaloo

 

 

“Captain!”

Glancing up at Yasopp’s bellow, Shanks stills upon the deck, reaching out with his Observation to see just what it is that has caught his snipers attention.

The answer has a smile stealing across his face. For that extra little bit of confirmation, Yasopp calls down a “Riskua ahoy, Captain!”

“To the island, Beckman!”

 

Jumping off the row boat, Shanks entire being lights up to see Riskua sprinting down the beach, floaty white sundress flowing around her legs as she comes dashing across the sand. He’s more than proficient enough with his one arm now to catch her, spinning the two of them around before he sets his daughter back down on her feet.

It’s been a year since he last saw her and he’s got so much to say.

He went with her advice, he and Makino are married now. He hadn’t been able to stand leaving the village without the confirmation she was his and he hers, every time he’d gotten close to stepping on Red Force without asking his feet had taken him right back off.

So, he’s a married man now and… and he’s gonna be a dad again.

Makino’s giving him another brat. He didn’t get any warning with Riskua, she’s just been there when he’d learnt of her existence, had been toddling around and speaking already.

This time he gets to be excited, gets to feel the anticipation of knowing there’s gonna be another little him running around. He hopes this one turns out as good as Riskua did.

He’s a lucky man. Shanks knows this, knows it like the sun rises in the East, knows it like the sea is blue.

“Hey, Gully, guess what?! You’re gonna-”

Shanks cuts himself when he finally gets a good look at his darling daughter.

“Gully,” Shanks begins again, staring and staring hard but it’s not going away.

An oval shaped bruise (he knows those kind of bruises well, knows they’re not called bruises at all but he refused to even consider it) resting on the sharp jut of her collarbone. Shanks suddenly remembers exactly what this island is for and by the Blues, is this what a heart-attack feels like?

“Gully, what are you doing on Panglossian Island?”

Riskua blinks, eyes near orange as the sun reflects off of them, spilling around Shanks’ broad form to reach her.

“Er, celebrating?”

Yep, definitely a heart-attack.

“Celebrating what?” He doesn’t have to choke that out, he doesn’t.

“Celebrating a year,” Riskua says slowly, arms folding before her torso, shifting her weight onto one foot.

Raowl used to do the same thing whenever she was close to giving something up as a bad job; Shanks has that particular trait memorised. Like the changing of the wind just before a hurricane hits, it’s an important sign to commit to memory.

“A year of what?”

Shanks mind is scrambling. What happened a year ago?

Almost instantly his mind spits forth the answer and his demeanour goes dark. Exactly a year ago he almost lost his precious little Gully and he hadn’t even known, too busy fighting off Kaido to allow Whitebeard to go save Portgas D. Ace.

Which hadn’t been needed in the end, because his little Gully, Anchor and the blond revolutionary had all beaten them to it.

Not without suffering though, by god’s not without suffering for it.

“Oh, a year.” Celebrating a year of being alive.

Well, Panglossian is a bit of a strange place to pick for such a celebration, but Shanks supposes it is a quiet island compared to the others, the unsaid truce between every last pirate in the New World ensures it remains quiet and marine-free.

“You don’t have a problem with it?” Riskua’s eyebrow lifts in surprise with disbelief written all over her face.

Shanks is clearly missing something here.

“He doesn’t have a problem with it!”

The call isn’t directed towards the Red Hair Pirate, but instead back towards the island and Shanks is treated to the sight of the Whitebeard Second Division Commander, Luffy’s older brother, dropping down from a tree he’d clearly been hiding up.

“Wha- no problem at all?” Portgas D. Ace cocks his head to a side, the same incredulity on his face only affirming Shanks isn’t seeing the whole picture here.

Then he spots the matching bruise on Portgas (the many, many matching bruises) and suddenly Shanks is in blissful ignorance no longer.

“You little bastard!”

“Shit!”

 

 

 

 

### Bubbles

 

 

Three weeks. He’s been on the waiting list for three whole weeks.

With a few hundred on the Moby, having a waiting list isn’t something that can be avoided.

But this was supposed to be his day. His.

Instead, Vista finds himself with a towel tucked under one arm, standing outside the bathroom (the only bathroom on the whole Moby with both a big tub and running hot water) and the sound of a very familiar hooligan echoing from behind the closed door.

“Look, I’m the Polar Tang!”

The Polar Tang… That was one of those Rookies’ ships, right? The submarine one… it’s a crappy innuendo and normally Vista would ignore it but this was supposed to be his day with the hot water and the big bath.

“Damn it, Ace!”

Kicking open the door (shattering the lock in the process but if they counted every lock broken on board they’d lose track after a week), Vista storms in, throwing down his towel in challenge.

Half submerged in the bath, Ace twists around to stare at him, chin and everything beneath inundated into the water.

For a moment, Vista can only stare at the very yellow bubbles covering the Second Division Commander’s hair, twisting it up into twin devil horns.

Also residing within the bath, Dracule Riskua folds her arms across her bare chest, the disapproving frown upon her face at odds with the ridiculous bubble beard she sports. Combined with the gravity defying hair twist (also crafted with that ridiculous yellow shampoo) she looks just as spectacularly weird as Ace.

“Eh? Vista?” Ace cocks his head to a side, half his cheek submerging into the water before he startles into action, throwing his hands towards Riskua to cup her breasts and hide them from view.

Vista’s uncomfortable with the fact the little lady Dracule rolls her eyes at the exact same time he does.

So, they’re not having sex or even messing about. Well, not the kind of messing about Vista was expecting anyway.

“You little bastard! Today was my turn in the bath!”

“It was?”

“We’re pirates, I thought the whole point of that was not playing fair?”

“Sshhh, Bright Eyes,” Ace insists, going to cover her mouth with one hand before recalls exactly what those hands were already cupping and aborting the movement. Instead, he shoves his hair (and the bubbly mess atop it that does look to be the same shade of yellow as that sub) at her instead.

As the lady splutters, face twisting in disgust as she ends up with bubbly strands of hair in her mouth, Ace grins at him, full of sheepish, boyish charm.

“I’ll trade any chore with you if you let us have this?”

“Oh no way, I’ve been waiting three weeks for this.”

 

* * *

 

“The Polar Tang? Really, Ace?”

“It was the only yellow thing I could think of.”

Rising up from the floor (seeing as Vista had physically thrown them from the bathroom without so much as a flinch, Riskua wraps the towel he’d been kind enough to lob out with them around Ace’s waist, snatching up the man’s hat to cover herself.

Ace blinks, staring down at his hat that she holds at level with her hips before he swiftly arranges her hair, just until it’s covering her breasts.

“Take the towel.”

“No way, that’s Vista’s, who knows where it’s been?”

“I’m clean, you little brats!”

The muffled yell rumbles through the air and Ace scowls, snapping his tongue out at the closed door.

“Spoil sport!”

There’s a pause as Ace adjusts the towel at his waist, rolling his shoulders back and nodding to one of his many gawking brothers. Riskua still doesn’t know all their names yet, she’s not going to pretend otherwise.

“Well I suppose we should go wash this off,” Riskua murmurs, gesturing to the mass of shampoo that still inhibits Ace’s hair.

“Yeah. Shower-time?”

“Mmm, yes. Let’s go.”

 

 

 


	2. Tell it to the Marines Chapter 42.5 Bonus

 

 

 

Ace stares at the offending item as if it burns, hands twitching but he doesn't dare touch.

He half expects Riskua to come flying in through the window or the door (or hell even through the wall à la Garp style) and give him the stink eye. But that doesn't happen.

That doesn't mean that Ace has drummed up the courage to move the offending item that rests upon his bed, half hidden beneath the pillowcase.

He's going to kill Sabo, because only that idiot would dare do this.

He ignores the memory of his goodbye with Riskua, forcibly pushes down the questions (why, why did she kiss him, does it mean anything, does she do that with everyone, does she do that with just him, there's so many questions) to instead swear vengeance upon his brother.

Because he knows the blond shit is behind the lacy black garment on his bed.

Holy shit, what is he going to do with it? He can't just throw it out; that feels like sacrilege, like he's throwing a physical piece of Riskua away like she means nothing. This belongs to her.

But fuck if he's delivering it back to her; that'd be seven levels of awkward.

Why the hell is his only option to keep it? What the fuck is wrong with the world? He’s going to have to move it off his bed at some point, some point soon too. Ace wants to sleep and he wants to go to sleep soon.

Sucking in a breath, the Second Division Commander hesitantly steps forward, forcibly swallowing the lump in his throat. It’s still there on his bed, sitting there, taunting him. Like a visual representation of Sabo’s taunting laughter, the sound of which he can hear loud and clear in his mind.

It’s just underwear, Ace tells himself, fingers twitching. It’s not like it’s even a pair of panties, it’s just a bra.

True the bra’s one of the most risqué things he’s ever seen, all transparent lace with only a handful of strategically placed lines of solid black fabric that leaves both nothing and everything to the imagination, but Ace can handle this.

He’s not going to be undone by a bra, by his  ~~crush’s~~  best friend’s bra. She’s a girl, she wears bras. She’s left one here (by Sabo’s hand, he’s seriously going to kill the blond one day) and he can damn well move it off his bed.

It’s light as fuck in his hands; Riskua doesn’t need as much support as the handful of women Ace’s been with before; all their bras had been heavier, though admittedly they’d had a lot to hold up. If this flimsy thing is all that Riskua’s wearing, then her breasts obviously don’t need the suppo-

“No, stop thinking about it!” Ace presses his face into his hands, only to tear them away a second later because he’s still holding the bra and that’s weird as fuck.

But that leaves him staring at the garment in his hands just in time for Marco to poke his head through the doorway.

“Ace, yoi, we’re-” The First Division Commander cuts himself off, eyes fixed on Ace whose eyes are fixed on the bra even as horror coils in his gut.

“Not your lovers, huh?” And he’s gone before Ace can correct him.

 

God damn it, he’s going to kill Sabo.

 

 


	3. Art Student AU

 

 

 

 

 

### You’re a life model and I’m an artist, but a really slow one, could you maybe stick around so I can finish this brief please?

 

 

Fuck Gramps.

The old bastard insists they go on to study higher education, attempting to strong arm them into becoming marines. As a member of the Whitebeard Gang, Ace had absolutely no intention of going to ‘study at a higher level’, but he’s not really been given much choice. So that’s why he’s studying something Garp would never approve of.

Art.

That it’s relaxing as hell and Ace is actually really enjoying it; that’s just a bonus. That the main tutor is one of Sabo’s protest buddies is just the icing on the cake.

He’d known Ivankov for two years before he signed up for art school and the Okama just, gets him? That’s the best way Ace can explain it in all honesty.

He lets Ace ‘art’ as he wants to. Sometimes that’s incredibly quick sketches (that actually brings Ivankov to tears because of the ‘passion’ in his marks, whatever that means) but sometimes Ace is all about the detail. Drawings like that can take him hours upon hours to finish, but that’s okay.

Or, it was until they started on life drawings.

The first few sessions Ace’s in his quick ‘passionate’ mood. The sketches are swift, barely recognisable as human and all done in charcoal. Because that stuff is messy and amazing and Ace loves it.

Pops keeps coming to the shows and he buys every last piece of work Ace makes and though it’s embarrassing as hell it makes him quite happy too?

It’s odd, but whenever he walks into one of the buildings Pop’s owns he finds some of his art just splashed across whatever surface he looks at. Pops genuinely likes them, and so do all his brothers.

Sabo’s been bugging him for a piece recently to put up in his own activist movement office (or something like that, Ace isn’t actually one hundred percent on what Sabo does, only that it’d have been slapped with the label ‘revolution’ a hundred or so years ago) so that’s what the goal is for today.

They’re getting a female life model today, seeing as they’ve had the same guy for the past four weeks they’re trading out. But instead of four one-hour sessions, they’re only getting a single four-hour session with the girl today so they’ve been told to ‘make the most of it’.

Which Ace fully intends to do.

 

He just hadn’t been expecting the model to, well, look like that.

 

She’s got gorgeous colours, all red hair and shocking yellow eyes and, and Ace doesn’t want to draw her face.

This shouldn’t be awkward, she’s wearing a damn sheet for god’s sake. None of the other guys seem really attracted to her past the fact she’s got long legs and (as a life model is known to do) she’s showing a lot of skin.

The pose she’s picked really isn’t helping; sprawled on her stomach across the makeshift bed, hair muses and haloing her face, head cradled in her folded arms and long legs kicked up to hang in in the air.

Ace’s eyes keep coming back to the legs, because there’s an awful lot of them, so that’s what he ends up drawing in the end.

Not all of her, just the legs.

Sabo’d have probably appreciated the more artful shot of her face, the soft smile and twinkling ‘come hither’ in those poisonous exotic eyes but… but Ace doesn’t want to share the sight, quite frankly.

He ends up working towards an incredibly detailed drawing of her legs, focusing on the folds of the fabric and where the excess material of the sheet gathers at the curve of her thigh and four hours passes a lot quicker than he’d been expecting it to.

 

Ivankov had wanted them to have several drawings of the model in different styles but he’s only got the one… and he’s the only one here.

Ace looks around, noticing all the other easels have been packed up and all the other students have buggered off. Even Ivankov’s gone and Ace never usually misses the man’s extravagant goodbyes.

In fact… it’s been just over five hours since the life drawing session started.

“Shit, sorry, you didn’t have to stick around, how much do you charge an hour?” Ace blunders out, rushing to get all his stuff put away, not quite able to meet the woman’s gaze because she’s still laid out on the makeshift bed looking like she’s just woke up; those eyes are still hooded but they’re unnervingly enough locked on him.

“It’s okay,” she says, speaking for the first time since she came in and whereas her smile had been soft before now it’s warm. “I knew the time was up but you looked so into it that I didn’t want to move.”

As she sits up she’s careful to ensure the sheet moves with her and then Ace is suddenly reminded of the fact she’s very much naked under that and they’re very much alone in the studios.

Ivankov had turned the heating up to make the woman more comfortable in her state of undress and Ace is sweating, very aware of the fact he doesn’t even know her name.

“Can I see it?” She asks and it takes Ace’s brain a moment to work its way up from the gutter to understand she’s talking about his drawing.

“I er, yeah, if you want to.”

Suddenly very self-conscious, Ace remains perfectly still as the model plods over on bare feet, tucking a corner of the sheet in on itself so that it remains in place, held up by her modest chest.

“I model for the money and because I’ve found artists are always looking for rare colouring like I got slapped with,” the woman muses, inspecting his horribly detailed drawing of her legs, “but it’s nice to have people focus on the other parts. It doesn’t happen very often.”

And sure enough, when Ace sends a quick glance to the studios dotted around the rooms, every last drawing from today has sharp streaks of red or intense splashes of yellow. He’s the only one that’s focused on the tender tan of her legs and he can feel the back of his neck warm at the thought.

“Weren’t you suppose to have a few sketches though?”

When Ace turns his surprised eyes to her, the woman blushes slightly, looking away.

“I was listening to the brief, I’ve known Ivankov for a few years,” she explains, one small, dainty hand waving away her words.

Ace hadn’t realised how delicate her hands actually were; they’d been supporting her head, hidden away beneath the curtain of her bright hair. He’d probably have drawn those instead had he known.

“Yeah, but I’m really slow sometimes,” Ace admits, an idea forming in his head and he can’t quite catch the words before they all slip straight out, “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to meet up again so I can finish?”

Model girl blinks at him and Ace feels his freckles ignite, but his loose cannon of a mouth stammers on regardless.

“I just, maybe we could get a coffee or something only not coffee because it’s disgusting though if you like it that’s okay an-”

A slim finger presses against Ace’s lips and he blinks, looking down into amused yellow eyes.

“My name’s Dracule Riskua and I much prefer hot chocolate to coffee.” Riskua smiles at him, head cocking to a side and ah she’s waiting for him to respond.

“Portgas D. Ace; in total agreement on the hot chocolate vs coffee debate.”

“I’d love to go on a date where we talk about how hot chocolate is so much better than coffee and you draw me again,” Riskua admits and Ace is pretty sure he has specks of coal on his face instead of freckles because it’s the only explanation of why his cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

That and the fact Riskua’s still wearing just a sheet.

“Sounds good… My brief is due in three days…”

“So tomorrow is okay then?”

“Yeah, tomorrow would be great.”

 

* * *

 

“Ace, where’s my picture?”

“What picture?”

“The one you said you’d draw me for my office because you had a girl model in.”

“…I have no idea what you’re talking about, Sabo.”

 

 

 

 

 

### Oh ho! What is this? A sketchbook doing with only one person as the subject?

 

 

“Ace! You never draw people.”

“Yeah so?”

“You spent all of the run up to your life drawing bitching about it.”

“And?”

“And why do you have a sketchbook full of life drawing?”

Ace’s neck snaps up but it’s too late, Sabo’s already flicked through half of it and he’s still going. It’s all of one girl as well. Oh ho! Either Ace’s got a girlfriend or he’s a very talented stalker. Or-

“You liar! The female model didn’t cancel at all!” It’d taken Sabo ages to ‘remind’ Ace about the drawing he’d been promised for his office, but Ace had just mumbled out that the model didn’t turn up.

But his dirty liar of a brother has been telling porkies it seems.

“These can’t have all been drawn in one sitting,” Sabo muses, flicking through and defy dodging Ace’s lunge to reclaim the book. “Do the rest of the Whitebeards know you’re meeting up with some chick to draw her all the-” Sabo cuts off as he opens to the next page, which has the woman drawn laid out in what is unquestionably Ace’s bedsheets, fast asleep.

His head snaps up to glance at Ace’s room (the door having been left open) down the hall but the pattern on the sheets matches up.

“Sabo! Give that back you bastard!”

The blond jumps back to the front and his mouth pops open at the little date at the start. He’d drawn this girl drinking from that coffeeshop mug three months ago!

“Ace! Have you been dating some girl for three whole months?!”

 

* * *

 

“You write for the newspaper?” He’d had no idea.

Riskua looks up at him from behind the mass of her fabric scarf and he admits the orange clashes horrible against her hair but he’d seen it patterned with birds and it’d reminded him of her but now he wishes he’d tried to look for a different colour. That she still wears it anyway despite the colour clash makes him feel warm inside.

“Well yeah, I don’t model anymore because I’ve got an artist boyfriend who catches all my good-sides,” Riskua murmurs, looking away as her cheeks turn rosy and Ace does his best not to grin.

He feels kind of bad that Riskua’s abandoned what she’d called ‘easy income’ for him, but at the same time he’s pleased as hell he’s the only one that’s getting to look upon her sheet covered form… and sometimes not-even-covered-by-a-sheet form.

“-and I’ve always been good at writing, so here we are. I’ve got a book in the works, but until then…” Riskua trails off, shrugging her thin shoulders as she shuffles closer, her fingers linking with his.

They’re out of town, as usual because Riskua’s rather insistent her male relatives don’t find out about their relationship yet and Ace literally has a thousand plus adopted brothers who’ll all needle him about having a girlfriend the second they find out.

He wants to put it off long enough that when Riskua meets them she won’t go running for the hills. That she’s doing the same because of her father and uncle; well it’s good they’re on a similar page but Ace’s now a bit worried about just who her relatives are.

He’s quite certain one of them is Dracule Mihawk, which is seven shades of not good because as the World’s Greatest Swordsman the man’s intimidating as hell. Not that Ace won’t face off against him to keep Riskua around, but, yeah, he’d like to avoid it while he still can.

“No art supplies today?” Riskua asks, looking pointedly towards his smaller than usual bag and Ace can only shrug in return. It’s true; usually whenever they’re on a date he’ll bring something because he just can’t get enough of drawing/painting her, but-

“Pops got me a camera,” Ace admits, running his free hand through his hair and then grinning at Riskua, “if you’re good with pictures that is?”

“Ace, I’ll be your muse every day you want me to be.”

Ducking his head down into his shoulders, Ace grins, letting go of Riskua’s hand to instead grab at her hip and pull her into his side.

Not that she seems to mind if the hand sliding into his back pocket is any indication.

 

* * *

 

“Hey Ace, I th-”

Thatch trails off, halting in his blatant invasion into Ace’s apartment, hand still on the front door he’d unlocked with the spare key the poor boy probably (clearly) forgot he’d given him.

He’d expected to find Ace either passed out in the aftermath of a food-eating contest (it wouldn’t be the first time) or in the middle of a sleepover with his pre-Whitebeard brothers.

Well, a sleepover is clearly happening, but it certainly ain’t with Ace’s other brothers that’s for sure.

His freckled sibling is fast asleep on his couch, curled up around a redhead that’s in one of Ace’s shirts. Thatch is sure it’s one of Ace’s shirts; the boy doesn’t own enough shirts for Thatch to not recognise them all when he seems them.

While Ace is fast asleep, Redhead (fellow redhead, even if her hair is a true red instead of fabulous ginger like his) is clearly awake because she’s peeking up at him with one open eye, a little smile on her lips.

She’s pointing to something, Thatch realises after a second. The camera on the coffee table.

Stealthily sneaking forwards, Thatch snatches it up, lifting a brow as he waits for further instructions. Redhead just gestures to herself and Ace with the one finger that’s not trapped under Ace’s arm and Thatch understands instantly.

Red ‘goes back to sleep’ as Thatch snaps a quick photo and while he’ll never be as artful as Ace, the little photo that gets spat out of the old-style camera at the bottom is cute as fuck.

Red has opened both eyes now, winking at him before she returns back to ‘sleeping’.

It has Thatch’s lips twitching up in amusement and he snatched up a sharpie, scribbling a quick ‘ _introduce your gurl to us, Ace_ ’ at the bottom of the photo, which he leaves on the coffee table for his brother to find later.

Hell, he can’t even remember what he’d been planning to ask Ace when he barged in here, but Thatch knows what he’s gonna do now.

He’s gonna go spread the news.

 

 

 

 

 

### So I met your brother. Turns out we’re in the same protesting group.

 

 

“Bright Eyes?”

“Ace, don’t panic, but I’ve been arrested.”

Pulling the phone away from his ear to stare at the screen for any sign of a prank call, Ace puts the device back against the side of his head, still not quite certain that he’s heard right.

“What?”

“I was at a protest, and the government had beef against that. I’m in a cell now.”

Well hell, he’d have expected this call from Sabo, or from someone about Luffy (cause god knows Luffy’s too stupid to think to ring Ace himself) but from Riskua? His smart, sensible girlfriend?

“I’ve clearly underestimated you.”

“Yes, you have. Bring me some bail money, please? I’ll make it worth your while?”

“I’m on my way.”

Hanging up, Ace stands from his chair and stretches. He’s the last person left in the studio, having been in the process of pulling an all-nighter in order to get some compositions he wants to try sketched out on paper. His back pops with the motion and Ace snatches up his bag, heading for the door.

Then, his phones goes again.

“Hello?”

“Look, don’t get mad, Ace, but I’ve been arrested.”

 

* * *

 

Sabo meets Ace’s vibrantly coloured girlfriend in a jail cell. He recognises her instantly from the many (oh so many) drawings he’d found in Ace’s sketchbooks; she wears that contemplative expression as well in real life as she does on paper.

“Hi there, my asshole of a brother hasn’t introduced us yet, but I’m Sabo, Ace’s brother.”

Sticking out his hand, Sabo offers the redhead his best grin, watching her lips lift up as she slides her fingers into his.

“Dracule Riskua. It’s a pleasure.”

 

When Ace rocks up half an hour later with their bail money, grumbling the whole way to their cell, Sabo is already knee-deep in a childhood tale; specifically, their dine n’ dashes.

Riskua’s a lovely ray of sunshine who laughs in all the right places and is more than happy to share the list (the oh so long list) of restaurants that she and Ace are both banned from because she’s just as opposed to the idea of dine n’ dashes as Ace is; which is to say not at all.

Ace frowns, looking between the two of them with a scowl.

But hey, Sabo didn’t pull Riskua into this; turns out she’s been part of Dragon’s Revolution for two years. Given Sabo’s been attending a lot of events in the capital (trying and succeeding in finding a way for Dragon’s Revolutionary Movement to become a government party that will be going up for votes next year) he hasn’t had chance to meet her at a protest yet. Hell, he’s stumbled into her long before Ace got a chance to set up a meet and greet.

“You’ll have to come over to Ace’s apartment for tea tomorrow,” Riskua’s saying as the freckled idiot finally arrives, looking completely at home and not at all like she’s lounging across a cell bed. “I’ll cook, how does steak sound?”

“Sounds good, I’ll bring Luffy along with me, so whatever portion size you think will fill us up, you best double your guess.”

“You guys can’t organise a dinner in my apartment without me,” Ace snaps from the door, dark bags under his eyes and Sabo realises it is in fact four o’clock in the morning.

He should probably be feeling a bit guilty for dragging his brother out to the police station in the early morning, but Sabo’s far too ecstatic about meeting sketchbook girl (and approving of her) to really care.

“Well if you’d introduced her, like a good brother should do, maybe I wouldn’t have to.”

 

 

 

 

 

### Take off that sweater. Please. It’s burning my eyes and offends me.

 

 

“That sweater is hideous.”

Pausing, Riskua looks down at the large sweater that covers her torso and nearly half her thighs. Sometimes sweaters that are oversized are cute. This one however…

“Okay, so it’s not the prettiest of thi-”

“Ris-ya, it’s offensive; it’s searing when I only catch a glimpse from the corner of my eye. I daren’t look at you head on.”

Scowling, Riskua jabs her putter into Law’s side, enjoying the way he still squirms. She’d discovered he had that vulnerable spot back when they’d been dating and even now she makes sure to take advantage of such a thing.

“We’re out here in late winter playing mini-golf; if you think I’m wearing something other than the warmest thing in my wardrobe, you have another thing coming, my friend.”

 

She and Law had both met whilst trying to squirm out of the compulsory ‘you must join a society’ that the university staff had imposed upon Riskua’s first (and thus Law’s fourth) year.

It had been made mandatory for all students to join some form of club to ‘encourage better culture’, or something along those lines.

Now, never let it be said that Riskua was particularly a people person. She had her job as a life model already lined up and that offered all the social interaction she’d ever want in a week.

As such, she’d scrolled all the way through the hundreds of societies on the list and ended up picking the mini-golf enthusiasts one. Because the rule of thumb was if you were the only member of your society, you had no one to do stuff with and thus, didn’t have to do the stuff.

The only problem with such an attempt to trick the university was that she hadn’t been the only student with the same bright idea.

Hence, she and Law had ended up forming a society of two, left with money from the university that the absolutely had to spend on ‘pursuing their interests’.

Hence, the mini-golf, which they’d kept up into the next school year because it actually wasn’t that bad of a way to pass the time. Lord knows if they tried to find another ‘one person only’ club they’d probably both end up in a club with someone they’d hate. Best to stick with what they already knew. As things were though, they’d ended up with a pretty strong friendship, solid in the only way a relationship between to introverts can be.

That they’d spent six months of Riskua’s first year dating was a can of worms better left to open at another time.

Regardless, their friendship had survived the break-up and Riskua’s legendary day of nine hole-in-ones, so she’s pretty certain nothing will have them falling out.

Even if Law insists on picking on her choice in sweaterwear. Not that it’d really been a choice.

“I thought Portgas-ya was an artist?”

“He is,” Riskua confirms, taking a quick glance towards the location of the hole before returning her eyes to the personalised yellow and black golf ball. A quick tap from her putter and it’s off down the green, bouncing off the broken keel that lays abandoned in hole 7’s ‘Pirate’s Graveyard’ and just missing out on the hole.

“Then why is this sweater so god awful?”

“Because for all Ace’s talents, knitting is not one of them.”

Rolling up the excessively long sleeves for the fourth time that day, Riskua leans on her putter as Law lines up to take his own shot, only the ‘eath’ of his ‘death’ tattoos visible in those silly thumb-covering but fingerless gloves. She knows he has a perfectly good pair of gloves, she’d bought him that perfectly good pair of gloves but he’s an idiot and won’t wear them because they don’t match his favourite coat.

“Then why didn’t he stick to something he’s good at. Like drawing you.”

“Because he’s an absolute sweetheart who listens when I whine about it being cold. Ugly as it may be, this swath of fabric does the job. I am nice and toasty, unlike your frozen fingers.”

Law grunts, putter hitting the ball and Riskua scowls something fierce when it effortlessly drops straight in the hole.

What Riskua doesn’t say is that almost every damn penny Ace earns goes straight in a trust fund for his younger brother, Luffy. It’s cute; Ace mainly gets by on his many, many Whitebeard brothers and their gifts, be they of food or other essentials. Every date they have is either free or cheap as chips.

Not that Ace scrimps; each activity they do is carefully thought out, that or Ace rings the place up and drops Whitebeard’s name and suddenly they have a ninety percent discount. Even his presents are full of love and emotion and thought; like this very sweater which he’d given her for Christmas.

It’s lovely and Riskua’s never really been bothered about the aesthetic before. Why should she start to care now?

“As the only one of us to get a hole in one today, I can declare my fingers are fine.”

“That’s what the golfer in you is saying. What’s the doctor saying?”

Law’s studying to become a surgeon; he should have already completed his studies in medicine at his age, but he’d been held back from starting his degree due to illness. So instead of having graduated before Riskua got to university, he’s only on his final year now.

Which worked out well in the end because she’d not have made any friends during her time here had she not met Law.

Well, she might have still met Ace, but she wouldn’t have felt confident saying yes to his proposed ‘coffee’ date were it not for her time with Law the year before.

“Anyway, enough about my warm but unfortunate sweater. How’s the latest Supernova doing?”

“I do wish you wouldn’t call them that, Ris-ya.”

The ‘supernovas’, as she’d termed them, were the collective body of people Law has dated since they (Riskua and Law) broke up. She’s pretty certain the worst of it (Kid) has passed now, but Law shows no signs of settling with anyone.

Given she’d broken up with Law for his inability to commit to a serious relationship, she’s not really surprised by that.

“Bonney-ya and I are done,” Law grumbles with a dismissive wave, plucking his golf ball from the hole while she lines up her own shot.

“Well she’d have used your big surgeon salary on feeding her pizza addiction, so that’s probably for the best.”

 

Their weekly meet up (fulfilling their university enforced ‘society time’ that had long since stopped being a commitment and started being a competitively fun outing) ends with Law winning that particular golf course by three points.

Given that they’ve now won an equal amount of games, (and that they’re actually getting pretty good at this) Riskua feels it might be time for them to use the university funding that’s thrown out them to head to Dressrosa for the incredible extravagant minigolf there.

That Law’s awful uncle has been violently overthrown by the vigilant ‘Strawhat’ that’s running around means her friend with probably enjoy the trip that little bit more.

“It’s still an ugly sweater,” Law grumbles and Riskua prods him in the side again.

“Go find your eighth supernova.”

“It’ll be ninth, actually.”

“No, I purposely didn’t count Kid. And that’s for a good reason. Go find yourself a nice person, Law. Maybe you’ll get lucky and meet Strawhat; you can thank him for overthrowing your tyrant of an uncle with sex.” Riskua wiggles her brows, laughing when Law just pulls up the collar of her sweater to cover her face.

He doesn’t deny it though; Riskua knows Law would unquestionably bang Strawhat.

They’ve just got to find out who the idiot doing the marines’ job is first.

 

 

 

 

 

### Where the fuck did you come from?!

 

 

“So, I hear you’ve got a girlfriend, Ace!”

Ace can feel his heart clench, as if someone’s jamming it into a vice or something and he’s tempted to just turn tail and run.

Only he can never run from a fight, has never been capable of it.

But that is not his sperm donor sat up to table with his Pops. It’s not. It’s not it’s not it’s not-

“Ace. My baby.”

“M-mom?”

Forgetting all about the absolute horror sat up to the dining room table, Ace’s eyes land on his tired and pale mother and he can already feel the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

Back when his biological father had ended up caught and thrown into jail, his mother’s visa had run out and because of some legal crap, she’d been forcibly deported and unable to come back until Roger was released from prison.

Ace, who’d been born in this country, had ended up in Garp’s care. Something about not being able to leave the country he was born in due to an incarcerated family relation. Which sucked balls; Ace has only ever read letters from his mother before. He’d got by in life, but he’d never forgiven (and never would) his damn sperm donor for putting the both of them in that situation.

That’s why, as soon as Ace finds himself wrapped up in his mother’s arms, he happily (easily, oh so easily) ignores the man sat up to the table with his Pops.

Why the hell would Pops even invite the bastard into his home?! Weren’t they have supposed to have been rivals?

“Oh you’re so tall,” Portgas D. Rouge murmurs, brushing a strand of hair back from his face and Ace wouldn’t have been able to stop the smile if he wanted to.

“Rouge! He’s ignoring me!” Whiny bastard.

“Ace, son-”

“No, Newgate! He’s my son, you can’t-”

“Shut the fuck up! You weren’t there, I’m not your son! And you didn’t tell me you were inviting him so I’m not your son either right now!”

“That’s right, he’s my son,” Rouge insists, running her hands through his hair and Ace melts a little at the motion.

Yeah, he’s good with being Portgas D. Rouge’s son.

.

His mother is the only one he takes back to his apartment, because Pops has offered bloody Gol D. Roger a place to stay until he can get all his own estates back up and running, and there’s no way Ace’d invite his ‘father’ back to his place for dinner.

The thing is, as soon as Ace gets to the door, he’s reminded of the fact Riskua’s still in there. God, he hopes she’s put some clothes on.

His beautiful girlfriend- well when they met she was only wearing a sheet, she’s not exactly body-shy. Ace’s taken his precautions for that, getting his spare key back from Thatch (because of that damn spare key Thatch manages to stumble on them both during a nap and has spread the word to the Whitebeard’s even though Ace wanted to introduce Riskua over a dinner or something) to make sure no one can walk in on her when she’s less than covered.

That Riskua got his spare key in the end, well, it just seemed like a good idea at the time? Still does actually.

If she’s going to be living it up in a jail cell with Sabo (never mind that it’d been a one-time thing) then she might as well have access to the rest of Ace’s life. Hell, it’s only Luffy the she needs to meet now.

Oh, and his recently returned mother.

Worrying his lip back and forth, Ace sucks in a breath and decides to just go for it. Riskua’s either checked her phone or has not; pacing outside isn’t going to change that.

“So, you’re studying art, sweetheart?” Beaming at his mother, (his mother! His mother that he hasn’t seen since he was a freshly birthed infant)

“Yeah, I am.”

“And was Roger telling the truth? Has my little baby got himself a girl?”

Ace feels his cheeks burn but he slowly nods, flicking a glance to his apartment’s kitchen and letting out a relived sigh. There’s three plates set up for dinner; Riskua got his text and she’s cooking dinner now, if the smell is anything to go by.

A flash of red from the corner of his eye has Ace straightening up.

“Mom, this is Riskua. Riskua, this is my Mom.”

 

* * *

 

“He’s dating Shanks’ little girl?” Roger leans forwards eagerly, watching his old rival Newgate nod.

“She’s good for him. Though Shanks doesn’t yet know how they met.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, apparently the little Dracule was earning her money through modelling for figure drawing classes.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

### What do you mean you two already know each other?

 

 

“Eh? Shanks is my god-dad, why wouldn’t I know Riskua?”

Ace stares at Luffy, feeling a migraine coming on, one he’s trying to desperately supress. It’s either than or his desire to wrap his hands around Luffy’s neck and squeeze. Those urges from childhood (the ones to beat some sense into the little idiot) have never actually left; Ace’s just got that much better at not acting on the desire.

“You mean every damn summer-”

“Luffy came to visit me and Papa,” Riskua finishes with an easy agreement, Luffy still bundled up in her arms and Ace can feel his eyebrows twitching. Of course they know each other, why is he even surprised?

“When I told ‘Skua we swore brotherhood, she declared she was already my god-sister but she doesn’t want any more god-brothers since you and Sabo turned down the invite to come with me.”

At that Luffy pouts and Ace scowls that little bit more.

He could have met Riskua years ago, could have known her years ago (and then he might have even been able to keep that Law creep away from her too) but he’d been too much of a brat to take Luffy (and thus Shanks) up on the offer.

Oh god, Riskua’s dad might recognise him as the little brat from years ago.

No wait, if Luffy talks about him to Shanks and Riskua half as much as he does to every damn person he meets, then Shanks is going to unquestionably remember him.

Fuck. Damn it.

“You know, I always wanted to meet Luffy’s older brother, I didn’t realise you were the same Ace until now,” Riskua muses, smiling with her cheeks turning rosy. “I kinda had a crush on you just from what Luffy said in my teen years.”

Fuck, he really should have taken up Luffy’s offer.

God damn it.

 

 

 

 

 

### Fuck, did you mean to send me this?

 

 

The family dinner is always a riot; the fifteen of them that have been officially adopted in the eyes of the law (plus Ace who was too old by the time he joined them but the thought’s there) are the ones that sit up to table with Pops in the incredibly large dining room (it’s more of a ballroom really) while the rest of their brothers are seated at tables all around the area.

As such, Marco is in prime position to witness the moment Ace checks his phone, and then proceeds to go redder than the pasta sauce they’ve eating, redder than the strawberry tart Thatch has prepared for supper.

Marco’s eyebrows shoot up, not surprised in the least to see Ace scramble upon and out his chair, offering some half baked excuse as he flees the table.

“I’ll go see if he’s okay, yoi.”

“You do that, Son.”

With permission from Pops to go snoop, Marco leisurely makes his way to the corridor, following the muffle sounds of Ace’s voice. Clearly he’s on the phone, and if Ace has felt the need to instantly ring someone up after his beetroot impression…

“-me that right now! Wha-no, I don’t mean stop sending the- yes I appreciate it! No I don’t think you’re- what? There’s nothing wrong with- shut up and listen I’m not lying-”

“Everything okay, Ace?”

His freckles brother spins around, still blushing and with his phone to his ear.

“Fine, everything’s fine, Marco, I’m fine, every- please just be quiet,” Ace cuts off his stammering in favour of a whine for whoever may be on the other end of the phone, waving Marco away.

The blond has a feeling he knows exactly what Ace’s been sent though, and with a smug smile he heads back to the dining room. No need to report to Pops on this.

Not yet, at least.

 

* * *

 

 “You’re gonna kill me, Bright Eyes.”

Laid out on his bed, Ace stares down at the image on screen, having finally stolen away from the meal he’d forced himself back to. Everyone would get suspicious (more suspicious that is) if he didn’t return. Having to suffer through the dinner knowing exactly what was on his phone had been torture.

But now he’s finally got some time to himself.

Flicking open the message, Ace slowly scrolls down the collection of photos, smile on his face and anticipation rolling through his stomach.

The very first image has Riskua posing seductively across the bed of whatever hotel she’s staying at, lying there in his shirt. Ace doesn’t have a clue at what point that particular shirt had been stolen (his favourite one, no wonder he hadn’t been able to find it) but he’s not disappointed with where it’s ended up.

Which, by the second picture, is on the hotel floor. Followed by Riskua’s bra in the next picture, with the final picture an image showcasing the discarded shirt, bra and panties, tagged with the line ‘missing you’.

It really didn’t help that when he’d rung her up she’d been breathless, tone low and with the slightest accent from her home island leaking through. Exactly how she sounds post-orgasm.

God, Ace can’t wait for her to get back from this stupid field trip the English students have all gone on.

He misses her too.

Another message pops up, an image-attachment clipped onto it and Ace grins. In the very least it appears he won’t be going cold turkey while his girl’s away.

Time to do the decent thing and send her a picture or two in return.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of these have been on my tumblr for a while, and though I won't be posting them all here, I figured I'd share the better few/the finished few.


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